


Magic Krayan: An Affront to Everything

by squeezedoutofmiracles



Series: Magic Krayan [1]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Bad Flirting, Bravitz, Drow, First Meetings, M/M, Magic Kravitz, Magic Krayan, Necromancy, Rare Pairings, Reaper Kravitz, Tieflings, tiefling kravitz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 04:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12787098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeezedoutofmiracles/pseuds/squeezedoutofmiracles
Summary: There's necromancy in them hills, and an unnamed wizard at the scene of the crime claims to have nothing to do with it. But Kravitz has a job to do, and won't let the extremely flirtatious drow get in the way of that.Or will he?-They both have fetishes for bad accents, they're the ultimate power couple, don't @ me.





	Magic Krayan: An Affront to Everything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pumpkin_Jellicle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pumpkin_Jellicle/gifts), [pumpkin_alex (Instagram)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=pumpkin_alex+%28Instagram%29).



There were very few things that annoyed Kravitz more than repeat offenders. But one of those things, one of those very few things bad enough to draw him from the case file that was burning up precious space on his to-do list, was the nameless lich last sighted at Wave Echo Cave.

Some shitty little cave nestled among the Sword Mountains near Phandalin, for all intents and purposes abandoned, long since mined past the point of viability, and taken over by something or other. Something unimportant. The locals were maddeningly vague and unhelpful about it, even in the face of a charming fantasy-Cockney accent and every scrap of rustic hospitality he could muster. Charm wasn’t Kravitz’s strong suit, not on the job, and they all left him with a confusing array of explanations to do with a blood-locked door, some fungus, and goblins.

It sounded, in his professional opinion, like a bunch of dragonshit.

So he was left with very little option other than to investigate it himself. It was a weak lead, just a whisper of phantasmal dark energy, the aftertaste of necromancy burned into the walls. The ripples were felt in the astral plane; the still, ink black surface of the sea around the eternal stockade shifting just slightly, with the pull of a soul towards its clutches, severed as the soul manifested as a lich and swept itself away.

The Raven Queen was incensed. Usually her power over the dead was total, her records immaculate, but this was an unsightly smear on her reputation. Someone had looked death in the face, cackled, and went about their business, running amok in the mortal plane and wreaking havoc. It was Kravitz’s job to go and bring them to justice.

But they’d left behind nothing. Not even a name.

He would go in person, then, to the last place their energy had been felt. Somewhere within Wave Echo Cave, a place drenched in folklore and enough horror stories to keep children out of its passages for three generations to come.

He stepped through a slice in the fabric of reality, heeled boots clicking softly against the rough stone floor as the scythe’s path closed up behind him, and he sniffed the air with a wrinkled nose. There was an old lingering smell. Like a house which had a dog living in it three residences ago, that had been poorly cleaned by a cheap landlord.

Not goblins, or monsters of any description, though of course there were plenty of those too. No, it was something entirely different that Kravitz had learned to sniff out like a bloodhound, a familiar scent in places where his work was needed.

He held the scythe tight, the cool wood pressed to his palm, walking along the passages within the cave deeper into the mountain, following the smell. It hung about, clung to the walls, smelling like ozone and decay and growing as he walked, each step punctuated with the soft tap of his heeled boot on the floor.

The total darkness of the cave made the glimmer of a wall mounted torch up ahead all the more obvious. Kravitz frowned and paused, tilting his head as his ears twitched under his hair, listening for any sounds of life. Torches couldn’t burn for more than a few hours.

The realisation that the cave was absolutely not at all abandoned was accompanied by a hiss that chased a shiver down his spine. He spun on his heels with arms outstretched, and saw the shadowy form of a gigantic spider, outlined in the white of darkvision, lunging at him. It hit him, knocking the scythe from his hand and the air from his lungs as he fell backwards, grasping for his scythe as his cloak whirled around him. His back hit the floor with a sharp thud.

The beast hissed and chittered above him; teeth shining, glistening inches above his face as all the flesh melted from it and dripped back towards his hairline, his own teeth bared as he struggled beneath it, grunting with effort. It was heavy, heavy as a bugbear, crushing his arms to the floor, teeth chattering and whispering against each other as it leaned over him, swaying and shifting above him, looking at him from all angles.

Its outline grew more bold. The hairs on its disgusting face started to prick into reality, its eyes shining as a torch was carried closer, steps sharp against the stone floor.

“Bryan, dear, play nicely.”

By the Raven, that accent was atrocious.

Kravitz grunted, straining his head back and getting an eyeful of grey leg, a tabard that fell to the floor with far too much thigh on show, long white hair, and a white staff that curled up towards the ceiling, topped with eight prongs cradling a shifting white light.

“Oh, we have a guest, how exciting!”

The face pulled into view. A wide smile, hair falling around his face as he leaned over Kravitz - an elf, that was definitely a dark elf - with pointed teeth and hands clasped tightly around the staff, expression almost giddy with glee.

“Oh what WONDERFUL bone structure, dear, I would just kill for a jawline like that,” he said, chuckling to himself in his awful, terrible, no good accent as he reached out and drew a pointed fingernail, glossy and black, along the edge of Kravitz’s jaw bone, now exposed with all the flesh melted off.

“Get your pet off me,” Kravitz growled, teeth gritted as he stared up at him, eyes illuminating his captor from underneath in a way that gave him shadows where his eye sockets should have been.

“Oh, Bryan is just playful! Isn’t he a darling? We don’t get visitors very often, you see, I am so very good at keeping this place a secret.” He giggled, eyes bright as he reached out and petted the giant spider right on top of its chitinous head, causing the thing to vibrate and drop down on top of Kravitz. Chest to chest with it, the weight caused his ribs to creak.

“It is a secret, after all,” the elf said, and Kravitz was sure he could hear more of an edge to his voice, behind all the Vs and the warbling pitch.

“You can’t keep secrets from death,” Kravitz said, hand curling at his side, glancing for his scythe. It was just a few feet, had barely skittered away at all, it’s ink blade shimmering in the unnatural light of the staff, skimming over the feather engravings in its surface. “The Raven Queen sees all; you are charged with necromancy in the final degree and the evasion of justice, you will be-”

“I love your accent, dear, where are you from?” the elf said, head tilting to the side.

Kravitz stopped, nonexistent breath catching in his throat.

“I… the eternal stockade, where you will be held indefinitely for the crime of necromancy, and perversion of the natural order of-”

“Ohoo, perversion, how exciting.”

His brain stuttered and shorted out, taking a moment to get over what the fuck he’d just been forced to ingest with his own two ears.

“You… are an affront to the natural order of things,” Kravitz said, the words grinding out from between his teeth. “A blot on the parchment of reality. And you will be expunged.”

“And you are the one that is going to… expunge me?” He did something. With his eyebrows.

Kravitz spluttered. It sounded almost like the spider above him was laughing.

“I’m flattered, darling, truly. We would have beautiful children, but I’m trying to keep a low profile out here.” The drow straightened up, smoothing out the creases of his tabard. “And I think I may have to kill you now. So sorry.”

Kravitz hissed a breath between his teeth, eyes glowing a dull red in the darkness of the cave, silent except for the chittering of the spider and the rhythmic rushing of water, somewhere far off.

“You will pay for the crimes of necromancy with your life, you are the scum of-”

“Again, with the necromancy. Is it because I’m a drow?” He frowned, head tilted and both hands clasped on the orb of the staff, illuminated from beneath and highlighting flawlessly pointed nails. “Do they give you racial sensitivity training? At Raven school?” He frowned deeper, and Kravitz noticed how well threaded and pointed his eyebrows were, spectacularly white against grey skin. “That is not my speciality, darling, I can assure you. Dead things give me the heebie-jeebies.”

In a very unprofessional moment of indulgence, Kravitz very much wanted to hear this drow say heebie-jeebies again in that exact accent.

“Playing the race card against a tiefling will get you nowhere,” Kravitz said, scowling up at him.

“Oh, a tiefling! How exotic! I thought you were, perhaps, just very dedicated to your aesthetic. With the horns.” He reached down, and before Kravitz had the chance to voice his disapproval, the drow had laid a hand on his horns, trailing the point of a nail along one. Kravitz gasped sharply, teeth bared, arching off the floor and struggling against the weight of the massive spider, turning his head sharply and throwing the drow’s hand off.

The drow giggled.

“There there, I’m only teasing. I can respect a dedication to your appearance.”

“It’s. Uniform.”

“Of course it is, dear.” The drow winked, and Kravitz could feel his nonexistent blood boiling in his nonexistent veins. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me. I love the cape, very in-season, did you go to Goldcliffe for that silk?” He leaned in and took a handful of the wine-red lining of the cloak, running it between his fingers and giving a long low noise of approval.

“I. I…” He spluttered, reaching for something, anything he could say, something from the script about crimes against civilisation and the order of magic. But. He was so chaotic, so utterly off script, it was _impossible_. “...yes. The. The Jade Fabric Emporium.”

The drow squealed in delight, clapping his hands and standing up straight. “I KNEW it, they do the most divine brocade there, if you ever get the chance to go again you _must_ ask for the dwarven seamstress. I know, I know, who would trust a dwarf with fabric scissors, but he works this magic with bias binding-”

Kravitz lay back and just. Let him go. Let him ramble, eyes lit up as he talked about the material at this haberdashery, and how they imported the silken thread from somewhere exotic, and it wasn’t a stretch to imagine him cooing over silks in the fantasy bargain bin. Kravitz sighed out of his nose, skin beginning to knit back together across his face, hair pooling on the floor around his head as he watched the drow gesticulate, trying to picture him strutting the streets of Goldcliffe.

His train of thought was interrupted by a gasp. The drow was staring, fingers touching delicately at his lower lip as he leaned over, hair almost brushing Kravitz’s face as he bent at the waist. His very low cut tunic hung away from his chest.

“Oh, my. Yes, this is definitely an improvement,” he said, smirking as he touched the end of Kravitz’s flesh-nose with the pad of one finger. He pulled away with a chuckle, stepping back and clicking his tongue as he fished into a pouch and pulled out the body of a dead rat, throwing it off down the cave passage.

Bryan scuttled off Kravitz’s chest, running after the tasty snack, heralded by the disconcerting tapping of eight clawed feet.

Kravitz sat up, reaching instantly for the scythe and turning onto his front, planting a foot and standing straight, both hands clasped on the shaft ready to block a blow, or deflect a highly powerful spell. But nothing came. The drow stood there, looking vaguely amused, all the weight slung to one side of his stance as he watched Kravitz throw glances around, waiting for the first attack.

“So, if I am not this necromancer you are looking for, I suppose you have no business in my cave?” he said, gesturing around with a graceful hand, encompassing the cave walls in one swooping gesture.

“And I suppose I’m just meant to take your word for it?” Kravitz said, lip curled slightly. He had a job to do. Like hell was he giving up the only lead he’d had on this case for more than a year.

“I suppose so. Yes. I could try and cast ‘turn undead’ for you, but it would be an embarrassment.” He waved the thought away, reaching for a holster at his hip, and drew out a leather bound book with a white spider appliquéd onto the front, shimmering with opalescent stones. Kravitz hesitated then, after a quick “detect intentions” survey found nothing sinister, reached out.

The word “Grimoire” was written in a frankly excessively curly font across the first double page spread, and then underneath it were the words “property of-”

“...Magic Brian?”

“Mmm yes?” said the drow, leaning a little closer.

“Your name is. Magic. Brian?”

“Yes, yes, that is me. But I’m sure you can call me whatever you want, darling,” he said with a wink, and Kravitz felt heat rising in his cheeks. This was ridiculous. This whole thing was a setup, surely, the Raven Queen having a laugh at his expense, a punishment for taking so long on the unnamed lich case.

He flipped through the pages, schooling his expression blank. The different sections were roughly organised by the specialisation, with a more childish handwriting filling in the earlier pages, that got more delicate and refined as they progressed up the levels. Divination and Abjuration were especially full, with tattered page markers, and one well worn and dog-eared page that had clearly been revisited and rewritten many times, stood out.

“You’ve got a soft spot for Magic Missile?” Kravitz said, raising an eyebrow as he glanced up from the book. Magic Brian waved the comment away, grinning, pointed fangs glimmering in the bright and perfect light from his staff. From the new angle, without his life in immediate danger, Kravitz could tell the eight points on the staff were the curled up legs of a spider.

“Show me a wizard who doesn’t, hmm?” Brian said, smirking across at Kravitz. It seemed, almost, like he was playing coy. “I will admit, I don’t have much cause to use evocation any more.” He sighed, and reached inside his cloak. The light from the staff pulsed slightly, and he drew out a perfect blood-red rose, the petals full and heavy, stem lush and green. Kravitz’s eyes went wide, as Brian held it out to him.

“I. Uh. I. You.”

“Take it, darling, it won’t bite.”

“I’m. I’m here on official business of the Raven Queen.”

“And I’m here on official business of the Madame Director of the Bureau Of Balance, but don’t tell her that,” he said, holding up a finger to his lips and reaching over to tuck the rose into Kravitz’s cape. He walked his fingers up along the cravat that tucked into his collar, cool fingertips skimming the skin of his throat. “Oh my, so serious, darling. Must we absolutely talk business?”

“Brian-”

“So am I innocent or not, hmm? Not that I’m trying to get rid of you, but I believe you’ve worn thin the excuse that I’m a necromancer, would I perhaps be correct?” He looked at Kravitz through deceptively full lashes, and Kravitz opened his mouth a little. And shut it again.

“There was undead action in this cave. Within the past month. But…” He glanced down to the book again, turning the last few pages. They were blank, untouched and ready to be written on. There was something written on the very last page, with scratchy diagrams of gloves and plumes of fire, but the writing was near unintelligible, and it seemed unimportant to read further. Probably because of the atmosphere being cultivated. Very unprofessional. “I don’t believe you’re a necromancer, no.”

“Eeexcellent. So now we have that unpleasantness out the way, how about you stay for dinner?” The drow sidled a little closer, grinning. “I can conjure up a mean platter of Donigarten moss snails. Unless you’re vegetarian? Have you ever tried black velvet ear fungus with Menzoberranzan black truffle rothe cheese? It’s simply divine.” He was getting very very close. Close enough that Kavitz could see the gleam in his eyes, and it reminded him of a spider about to encircle a fly.

“I appreciate the offer,” he said, putting up a hand and setting it on the drow’s chest, giving the slightest push as he forced the grimoire back into his hand. Personal space, that was a thing that needed to exist again, he was fairly sure. “Really. But I, I do need to get back to work.”

Was he pouting? Was this drow, this inconceivably powerful wizard, pouting at him?

“Ugh, you’re no fun, no fun at all,” he said, smacking Kravitz on the arm lightly and backing off, making smoochy noises at his pet as the spider drew back into view, circling to its master’s side. Kravitz would have sworn, under oath, that he heard him say the words “who’s my favourite spider boy”, though it seemed crude to bring it up.

“Be that as it may, I do need to get back to work. I’m sorry for the intrusion.”

“Oh no no no, nonsense, intrude on me anytime,” Brian said, grinning. “How does next Thursday at seven sound? Give me time to tidy up the place?”

“I… I do need to leave. Thank you.”

“Excellent, I’ll see you then…?”

He realised the upwards inflection was implying something. It clicked after a moment.

“My name’s Kravitz.”

“Kravitz. What a wonderful name, dear.” He smiled, winked, and turned around with the spider at his heel. “I look forward to it.”

Kravitz watched the light fade after the wizard, cloak swirling at his feet, and realised a moment after he was out of sight that he was still holding the rose, fingers playing at its petals.

And he didn’t remove it, as he sliced a wide arc into the fabric of time, and stepped back into the astral plane to report back to the Raven Queen, who was going to very much enjoy the logs of that particular mission, over a glass of the oldest reddest wine that the eternal stockade had in its vast cellars.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a joke and then just evolved and now I’m deeply entrenched in this trash heap.
> 
> The food Brian offers Kravitz is from the Drow of the Underdark party fare food prop by Reddit user wats6831: https://m.imgur.com/gallery/5cEUA
> 
> “Brian is suddenly behind Kravitz and does the fingerwalk up the arm holding the scythe, 'Oh my, so serious, darling. Must we absolutely talk business?' ” - oncewewerezombies (tumblr and AO3)
> 
> Sparked an enabled by @pumpkin_alex on Instagram, spiderboy to my bonedaddy, you’re just awful and this is all your fault
> 
> Awful and cursed custom meme by st-jimmys-sister on tumblr.  
> Kravitz cosplayer is @diebstahl (Instagram)  
> Magic Brian cosplayer is @pumpkin_alex (Instagram)  
> bottom left Taako cosplayer is @behelit.cos (Instagram)  
> bottom right Taako cosplayer is @fissagod (Instagram)
> 
> And endless blessings to starmaid (tumblr and Instagram) for editing. Thank you so much, I look forward to vomiting more nonsense into your DMs


End file.
